


equal exchange

by frostmantle



Series: if you want my love [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Garlean Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, cid and nero fight like an old married couple, dramatized versions of in-game scenes, i'm not tagging violence because zenos is in this and that should be warning enough really, implied cid/nero because i'm a whole dumpster, jessie literally does not get paid enough for this, my other ship is zenos yae galvus/big dick dps, nero: also still bad at feels, part of a ridiculously slow burn tbh, references to cid's ptsd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-28 08:10:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17783759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostmantle/pseuds/frostmantle
Summary: The Warrior of Light loses one fight and wins another. (Spoilers for Stormblood through 'In Crimson It Began.')





	1. a dance without malice or mercy

**Author's Note:**

> "But you, eikon-slayer," the legatus continued, drawing the sword and lifting it, to point the tip in Aurelia's direction. "You will entertain me---will you not?"

For the first time in a very long time, the Warrior of Light found herself at a loss before an opponent.

At her back she could distantly hear cries of alarm from the retreating remnants of the Resistance, could hear Krile scrambling to pour aether into Y'shtola's unresponsive body, could hear the lalafellin woman shouting orders to a stunned and frightened Alphinaud as he tended to Conrad Kemp a few fulms away. At her side, Alisaie Leveilleur slowly and painfully forced herself back on her feet, aided by the Field Marshal of the Immortal Flames, wincing visibly as she tried to put weight on one of her feet and nearly lost her footing again. The Sharlayan girl limped forward, making to ready her rapier for a renewed assault.

Aurelia extended one arm, blocking Alisaie's path.

"Go see to the others," she said. "If you want to protect someone, protect your brother."

"What? But-"

"Neither of you are a match for him," and a preternatural chill rolled down her spine at her own words---because she remembered full well when they'd been spoken about her own strength. Rhitahtyn sas Arvina, at Cape Westwind, trying in vain to save the lives of the men under his command. Fate and time were strange bedfellows on occasion. Five years down the road and here she was, placed in the same unenviable position. "Go!"

She forced herself not to look back at the other Scions, at unflappable, hypercompetent Y'shtola who'd been brought low in a single strike.

She almost couldn't believe it. Almost... but she'd heard the rumors about Zenos yae Galvus for years, hadn't she? Even back when she was newly enlisted, the 'wir' who had but recently become the imperial prince had already possessed a fearsome reputation for cruelty, despite being barely more than a boy. Now he was a man grown, a terrifying one by all accounts who made Gaius van Baelsar appear downright saintly.

And presently, she had his undivided attention.

Zenos yae Galvus tilted his head in her direction, the gesture oddly birdlike, as though she were some mildly interesting species of mold he'd sighted on a rock somewhere. His gauntleted hand drifted over the hilt of one of the swords hanging from his enormous... belt? Whatever it was called, anyroad. That revolving sheath alone was practically the size of a Hyur. Nearly everyone she'd ever heard talk about him had claimed the man was not only a fearsome swordmaster but also freakishly tall, a giant among a race of giants. She wasn't sure why it surprised her that those tales appeared to actually carry some weight to them, but it did. 

"Your friends," he sighed, "were a disappointment."

For all that the sound amplification devices embedded in the imperial army's headgear made nearly everyone who used them sound tinny, canned, and nigh unrecognizable--she still knew the soft, vaguely threatening purr of an apex predator when she heard it. Every muscle in her body constricted in response to that sound, her skin crawling with revulsion, the Echo screaming _danger_  at her.

Around them, Rhalgr's Reach burned. The acrid fumes of burnt ceruleum and the copper stink of shed blood stung her nose, watered her eyes, the air choked with ashes and smoke, and behind her Krile and Alphinaud poured aether into a Scion's dying body. Zenos yae Galvus took a single step forward, the metal joints of his armor chiming softly, a song of violence not yet begun. The firelight from the burning pavilions around them cast flickering patterns over the wisps of long golden hair unbound, cascading in loose, careless banners over his breastplate.

Stirrings of fear winding insidious black tendrils through her soul.

_Danger danger danger._

"But you, eikon-slayer," the legatus continued, drawing the sword and lifting it, to point the tip in Aurelia's direction. "You will entertain me---will you not?"

  
~*~

  
"No. Absolutely not. You are not staying here and that's final!"

"Right, Garlond," the other man sneered, and _seven hells_ did Cid Garlond remember now precisely why their decades-ago relationship had fallen apart in the first place, "as if I would be fool enough to let _you_  reap the bounty of this beautiful creation all by your lonesome whilst I go off on a bloody wild chase for an eikon."

Standing upon the lip of the massive sinkhole, the two men scowled at each other, arms crossed over their chests, postures defiant. The fact that Cid had to crane his neck up to glare at Nero tol Scaeva should hardly have served to irritate him _further_ , but it did. Difficult to assert oneself when one's rival stood over a fulm taller in height, bloody gazelle that Nero was. It did give him cause to reflect on how many countless times they'd ended up in just this situation over the years, though, bickering on their joint projects over who was going to do what. Mostly because Nero had always bristled at even the slightest hint he might have been relegated to playing second fiddle.

Cid pinched the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh. The still, intense heat of the late summer evening was giving him a nasty thumper of a headache too, which wasn't helping.

"Look, Nero," he said, taking pains to moderate his voice--all they needed was one of the XIIth's parameter scouting cohorts finding them out here, though things had been oddly quiet so far--as he tried to make the other engineer see reason. "We can't both stay here. We saw that launch path split right before we put the damned machine back into sleep mode- you remember that much, don't you? The aetheric readings should be spiking if Shinryu were down here with it, and it's not. Nothing's happening."

There was no way Nero wasn't aware of this, he knew that. Nero knew all of this every bit as well as he did; he was just trying to throw his weight around because he was annoyed at Cid. Annoyed in general, truth be told, because it had been Nero's idea to use the Omega launch codes to deal with the primal in the first place, and it hadn't really gone as either of them had foreseen or even hoped, and now someone was going to have to go find out what happened to the primal. You couldn't just leave something like that lying around for anyone (the Empire) to find.

"Should've known it would end up like this." Nero threw his hands in the air. "Cid nan bloody Garlond thinking he can order me about like one of his underlings!"

"All I'm saying is that you have the capacity to actually _find_  the blasted thing and you could probably do it without anyone being any the wiser. You were the head of the XIVth's Frumentarium, weren't you?"

"That's exaggerating things a touch."

"Exaggeration or not, you still have most of your old contacts, don't you? Unless you've burned through them all by now."

"Garlond," Nero interrupted.

"What? I'm paying you a compliment, you stubborn ass."

"Garlond. Look-"

"...Are you _really_  going to sit here and make me argue over who should go track down a damned pri-"

" _Garlond_ ," Nero snapped, jabbing a pointing finger over Cid's shoulder, "kindly shut up and _look_."

He almost continued the argument anyway but the tight, anxious note in the other engineer's voice, the grim set of his jaw, made Cid realize something was amiss. The other man's pale blue eyes were intent upon something off to the northeast. Cid followed the direction of Nero's gesture and felt his gut clench when he saw it. A huge pillar of blue-black smoke, billowing into the sky. He knew the sight of burning ceruleum fuel well enough.

It was coming from the direction of Rhalgr's Reach.

Without a word, Cid reached for the handgun in its holster, checked briefly to ensure it was loaded. The late afternoon sun glinted wickedly off the edge of its bayonet as he secured it once again, then shouldered his toolkit.

"What... don't tell me you're going out there?"

"Of course I am," he said curtly.

"You _do_ realize they'll stretch both our necks if they catch us? Do you think Zenos yae Galvus gives a single shite about your reputation?"

"No more than I imagine he cares about yours." Cid let out a grunt as he dropped his toolkit onto the deck of the Enterprise, securing it to the wheel's base. "Stay here if you like, Nero, but I won't just sit here and watch the Reach burn. I've friends on the ground who are going to need help. You've won your first crack at Omega if you care that much. I suppose we'll figure out what to do about Shinryu."

"Only proper as it was _mine own strategem_ that felled the eikon in the first place," Nero challenged, crossing his arms. "Enjoy yourself, Garlond. I'll be staying, then, if it please you."

"Suit yourself," Cid said with a shrug, and turned his attention to tweaking the Enterprise's navigational settings. Over his shoulder, he observed dryly: "I'll make sure to let the Warrior of Light know you're safe as houses when I see her. I'm sure she'll be terribly impressed to hear you left everyone to their own devices against an imperial legion so you could go tinker with yet another Allagan weapons system."

A long silence, followed by an even longer sigh.

"Fuck's sake," Nero tol Scaeva finally snarled. The sound of heavy footfalls echoed over the planks of the airship deck as he stomped sullenly aboard, making certain that his displeasure at the entire situation would be clearly and fully known. "...if I get captured and executed for indulging you in playing the hero, Garlond, I swear I will make a pact with a voidsent so I can _haunt you_  for the rest of your natural life."

Cid couldn't help the answering grin that stretched his lips.

  
~*~

  
Aurelia was painfully aware that were it not for the Echo, Zenos yae Galvus would have dispatched her long ago.

The legatus's sword rang like a bell as it struck the side of her staff. She had twisted her arm to block its descent, willing its path less sure and turning his sword's edge to glance harmlessly off its surface. But the man hit like a damned gigas; even parried it was enough to send her flying backwards. Loose gravel clattered beneath her boots as she caught and braced herself against an outcropping of stone with the butt of her staff, only just maintaining her balance. If she lost her footing and fell now, she knew, it was all over. That wicked blade would gut her, spill her innards on the sand as it had done for Y'shtola.

She took the opportunity to rest briefly, the harsh and unlovely sound of her heavy breathing cutting through the ominous silence, indigo eyes intent upon the tall, broad man in his cermet-plated armor. Zenos yae Galvus continued his inexorable advance, shaking out his sword hand as he moved forward with a slow, unhurried pace. It was made all the more menacing for the fact that he never even flinched, or paused, or made any sound other than the keening whistle of those wickedly fast strikes as they sliced through the very air itself.

Aurelia's hands ached from exertion, her palms numb and knuckles scraped raw. Fighting this man was like trying to punch the side of a mountain. It wasn't that he was untouchable. Plenty of her attacks had struck him, they just- they weren't doing anything to him. They weren't even slowing him down. He barely seemed to register that he'd been hit at all.

Truth be told, she hadn't expected to defeat him; she knew better than that. But she'd hoped she might at least be able to fight him to a stalemate, drive him off, _something_  to keep him from trying to go after her very vulnerable companions. Knowing that she was the only thing standing between Alphinaud and a sword through the heart was not a comforting thought. Especially since she'd had half a dozen close calls already since she'd engaged him in this duel.

But Zenos just... kept coming, just kept approaching her with that slow, implacable forward stride, the edge of his blade occasionally flashing in her direction with a blinding flurry of wind and steel.

Speaking of--

The katana blade flickered towards her exposed torso once more, a quick and ghostly echo of the strike that had felled Y'shtola. Were she any one of the others, 'twas like it would have struck true. As it was, only the marginal advantage of the Echo combined with her third eye's spatial perception allowed her to mount an evasive defense. And it was a near thing.

It also cost her the last of her strength. Aurelia dropped to one knee, clutching her staff like a lifeline. Sweat ran in rivulets down her temples, dripping into her robes, her limbs trembling with fatigue. And her opponent... looked for all the world like he was just out for a casual afternoon stroll. She was certain now that he was merely toying with her, the way a cat might knock about a stunned mouse before finally snapping its neck. It was just a matter of time before he overpowered her through endurance alone and they both knew it.

Seeming to sense that his opponent had reached the end of her tether, Zenos' stride slowed, then stilled altogether. A few fulms away, he pivoted on one heel to face her, the crunch of his sollerets on the ground silenced for the first time since he'd taken the field. He tilted his head to stare at her through the black, empty sockets of his helm and she watched the dance of firelight as it flickered the length of the blade. Its tip brushed the dirt at his feet.

"I misjudged you," Zenos observed mildly, as though they had just finished a calm discussion upon the merits of swordplay rather than a desperately one-sided duel. His enormous frame dipped into a crouching stance, sword arm drawn back and up and aiming for her chest. "This ends now."

He came at her full tilt, then, and cut through her defenses as if they didn't even exist. 

His final blow laid her chest open from collarbone to sternum and sliced through her staff like butter, denying her feeble attempt at another parry. The crystal setting shattered into pieces and the now-useless weapon flew from her hand, her shoulder wrenched from its socket and her overtaxed forearm bending alarmingly before the bones within snapped like a green twig. She doubled over from the pain, bright fire blooming in her chest and exquisite agony bolting down her left side. She heard a series of strangled gasps, and felt a distant sort of shock when she realized they were coming from her own throat.

"Pathetic," sighed the Legatus of the XIIth.

Then Zenos yae Galvus walked away from his defeated opponent to join his cohorts without a second glance back, in that same low and unhurried stride: a living, breathing avatar of unstoppable violence. All she could do was watch him go as grey began to wash across her vision, turning the edges blurry and indistinct.

Aurelia Laskaris crumpled to the ground, semiconscious.

  
~*~

  
A summer squall was rolling in over the peaks.

Thunder rumbled ominously, lightning forked across the ash-choked evening sky, and the few trees they passed bent and danced restlessly, their leaves flashing their green underbellies in the wind. The sharp gusts of the dry line tugged at Cid Garlond's clothing like darning needles as the odd drop of rainwater struck his cheek. The rain was a threat but it hadn't quite committed itself yet.

When Gaius van Baelsar had still been the viceroy of Ala Mhigo he had once mentioned to Cid that the climate of Gyr Abania was wont to breed violent storms from time to time, as there was precious little between the Ghimlyt and the Black Shroud besides a few hundred malms of semi-arid plain and weathered canyons. Tonight, however, the storm was a boon. Combined with the thick smoke billowing into the air, the black clouds had darkened the sky to such a degree that poor visibility alone would have obscured the approach of the Enterprise to any prying eyes.

Cid had decided to approach from the south anyway, flying as low through the deep ravines of the Velodyna as he dared in order to avoid the watchful eyes of the legion's aerial surveillance, but as it turned out he needn't have taken the precaution. The wide cermet hulls of the transports that had dropped the XIIth Imperial Legion into the Reach had departed now that their grisly work was completed. They coasted into the air with a series of metallic rattles like steel insects, heading north towards Loch Seid.

As he brought the airship to dock, he saw the Flames pouring into the canyon ahead: reinforcements for what remained of the Ala Mhigan Resistance, no doubt, although they had come far too late to provide any meaningful aid. The Reach lay in ruins, pavilions ablaze, statues toppled, weapon and food caches either seized or destroyed beyond repair, and that was just what they could see at a glance.

Behind him, Nero let out a low whistle.

"I see the XIIth has already had their fun. Scorched earth tactics, Zenos yae Galvus' favorite strategy," the former tribunus observed at his back. "If one could call wanton destruction strategic."

Cid didn't answer. Ash and blistering heat darkened and choked the air all around him and despite himself the engineer felt a growing sense of anxiety, something visceral, something that came from the smell and the sound. He struggled to keep his grip even on the rudder, palms clammy with sweat and breathing uneven. The splinters of unpleasant memories jabbed like broken glass at his psyche, threatened to bubble to the surface. If Nero noticed his discomfort he didn't remark upon it, for which Cid was silently grateful. He'd never told him about what had really happened at Carteneau and he wasn't about to explain things now. Even if he'd been inclined, this wasn't the time for such things.

But he did agree: this was no raid; it was a massacre.

"Come on," he said at last. "Let's see what aid we can render. If naught else we might be able to help evacuate wounded."

There was a cluster of people standing around a clearing near the pool in the middle of the canyon. Not milling around, but calling out in alarm, a familiar voice---General Aldynn's---shouting orders. He peered into the crowd, frowning. Normally Aurelia would be front and center, scurrying to and fro to assist with moving the injured or bring supplies or whatever, but he didn't see her anywhere.

"We need a stretcher! Now!" the General of the Immortal Flames bellowed, before returning to whatever had held his attention. Cid felt his blood run cold as ice, looking at the blood. So much blood, buckets of it splashed everywhere. It was at that moment that Raubahn sighted him and grabbed his shoulder, bringing him out of his momentary shock. "Master Garlond! Thank the Twelve you're all right."

"Nero and I saw the smoke-"

"Aye, the Crania Lupi sprang an ambush on the Reach and just our awful bloody luck that the viceroy decided to come along for the ride. We came as quickly as we could manage, but the imperials were already leaving as we arrived," the big man said, an angry tremor in his voice. "Lots of casualties. Even the Scions didn't fare well. Lyse is alright, so're the Leveilleur twins, just banged up a bit, but Mistress Y'shtola and Aurelia were both badly injured."

"Aurelia?" Cid couldn't believe his ears. To hear that Y'shtola was hurt was enough of a concern on its own, but the Warrior of Light? She was made of sterner stuff than men twice her size. He couldn't remember the last time she'd picked a fight and come off the worse for it. "What happened?"

"She took the field and dueled the viceroy."

"She did _what?_ " Nero exploded. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides. "Why would she- _what_?"

"Trying to buy Mistress Y'shtola some time, she said," Raubahn replied. "She lasted longer than nearly any of the rest of us would have, but even she couldn't best him. She looked bad enough I had my medics take her to the infirmary with the others so Mistress Krile could see to her hurts properly. How he didn't kill her is anyone's guess, but---wait, Master Scaeva, where are you going?"

"The infirmary, obviously," the engineer snapped over one shoulder, his gait aggressive and angry as he crossed the breadth of the Reach in long strides. "To find that madwoman and give her _a piece of my bloody mind_."


	2. stumble in my footsteps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As I told you before," Nero snarled between clenched teeth, "I am not *sulking*."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jessie is both the most underrated and the most terrifying member of the ironworks and you literally can't change my mind

Night had given way to full dark long ago. The furor over the imperial rout had gradually died back as plans were made to regroup, and the Reach had fallen somewhat quiet as most of the forces at the camp had drawn back to Baelsar's Wall and into the Shroud on the Eorzean side of the border largely unmolested.

That was, according to all the whispers he'd overheard, the good news. Nero tol Scaeva supposed that was one way of looking at things, but they should all count themselves fortunate that the Empire had for some mad reason elected to allow the Resistance to withdraw and lick their wounds for a time. The Black Wolf would have driven them into the hills and harried their remnants until they had no supplies and no fighting spirit left, among other things.

Aurelia had not yet stirred from her (drugged, he suspected) slumber. The longer he sat outside her door and waited for her to wake up, the more his initial fury gave way to his anxiety, and a ridiculous and yet steadily growing conviction that she would never wake again, that she had somehow suffered permanent harm. The more free time his mind had to dream up nightmare scenarios in lieu of any further information, the more he kept trying to determine for himself that she was all right.

And yet he couldn't bloody well do that either. Thus far, every attempt he'd made to slip past the relentless eye of that... that _viper-tongued shrew_ of an elezen child had ended in humiliating failure. Wounded or not, that girl was a terror. The last time Nero had managed to get a foot across the threshold, she had swatted his leg with the sheath of her rapier hard enough to leave a bruise before threatening to use him for target practice if he persisted. Or, as she had put it, "any Garlean will do."

So after a little over four bells of sitting in a cramped alcove outside what passed for a private sickbay, feeling increasingly uneasy, he'd decided to go for a walk.

Nero hated hospitals--to this day, he bore a distinctly unpleasant boyhood memory of a near fortnight under quarantine in the Academy's medical bay while ill with scarlatina--so he couldn't be entirely certain if it was that general distaste or the close quarters of the caverns that had made the infirmary seem so stifling. He had long since shrugged off his coat and rolled his shirtsleeves up to the elbows. But even out in the open his skin still felt clammy and a light band of sweat beaded across his brow. Annoyed, he swiped at it with the back of one hand.

None of the few men and women gathered outside took much notice of him as he paced restlessly through the remnants of the camp; there were a few perfunctory glances as he passed and that was all. Once he was certain that he was alone, he sat down on a length of pillar that had collapsed into the dust at some point long before the Resistance had ever arrived here, trying to put his thoughts in order.

Lately he had found himself thinking about just _how much_  time he had spent chasing after Cid Garlond, while simultaneously struggling to free himself from the other man's shadow. A good chunk of his adult life had been spent cultivating the latter as a personal ambition, to the exclusion of nearly all else. He couldn't actually think of a single friend he'd made since leaving the Academy. Professional connections, certainly, but no friends. Nero was the first to admit that it made for a lonely existence. Even so, it was familiar territory, and that familiarity meant his loneliness, even if not ideal, was at least safe.

The Warrior of Light was neither familiar nor safe, and yet he couldn't bring himself to leave until he'd seen for himself that she was going to be all right, that Zenos yae Galvus hadn't killed or maimed her. There were any number of things he wanted to say to her, if he were entirely honest. Quite a lot of angry things, to be certain, but what he felt more than anything was fear. 

A part of him itched to turn his back on it all and walk away. He should never have involved himself--however tangentially--with her, or with the Eorzeans and their political squabbles. If they wanted to march to their deaths trying to invade an imperial province, then they were welcome to do as they pleased so long as they left him well out of their affairs. Were he a wiser man, he thought, he would have forsaken the Reach altogether for the vast open quiet of the Gyr Abanian wilderness and the cold surety of magiteknical research, the simplicity and freedom of his own selfishness.

In another place, another life, walking away from a situation not to his personal advantage was precisely what he would have done. But rather than the catharsis he'd expected to feel in contemplating an escape route for himself, the notion instead only filled him with a strange, black anxiety he had never experienced before.

He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands with a soft groan, trembling fingers clutching at his hair.

"Master Scaeva, I presume?"

It had been a very long time since Nero had set foot in the imperial capitol, but he still knew the accent well enough.

Slowly he drew his gaze upwards, his hands falling away from his face to look upon the interloper. A pretty, petite midlander woman stood in front of him, a heavy toolkit slung over one of her slim shoulders. She was dressed in the uniform of the Garlond Ironworks, dark leathers and crystal blue woolens from the fleeced doublet to plated jackboots, far more suited to the cooler, wetter clime of Mor Dhona than Gyr Abania.

His brow knitted as he studied her. Familiar enough, so he knew he must have met her once before, but he'd not yet learned the names of Garlond's lackeys. He knew 'the small one,' 'the big one,' and 'the lady one' and that was about all.

"Who's asking?"

"Thought I'd find you out here," the Hyur continued casually, shifting the weight of the kit as she spoke. "Finished your sulk, have you?"

The observation was... unexpectedly embarrassing. Nero fixed her with the haughtiest glare he could muster, trying to ignore the sudden self-conscious burn in his cheeks.

"I... _beg_  your pardon? I am not sulking."

"Could've fooled me."

"Yes, well, I don't recall asking for an opinion."

Usually that flat, unamused drawl would have served as a warning to the other party to leave well enough alone. Either this girl was oblivious or just didn't give a damn.

"Master Garlond told me you've been like this ever since he's known you," she shrugged. "Said whenever you got your upset over something -- or someone -- you'd flee the classroom or workshop or wherever it was to go someplace where you could pity yourself in private."

Didn't give a damn. Right then.

"He said he caught you crying in a supply closet once."

"Amazing," Nero growled, pressing his fingertips to his temples. He could practically feel the tension headache forming. "All this work Garlond supposedly has on the back burner whilst he runs amok across this _hellhole_ , and yet somehow his assistant's most pressing order of business is to seek out and torment me."

"Looks like you're doing a fine job of that all on your own," she said tartly. "And I'm not Cid Garlond's assistant. I'm his partner. He's the face, I'm the business. Name's Jessie Jaye, by the by. Don't suppose that rings a bell."

It did, now she mentioned it, though he didn't say so.

"And that means.... what to me?"

"I was getting to that. Eventually. May I sit?"

Nero briefly considered telling her to bugger off before deciding it wasn't worth the energy. "Don't suppose anyone's stopping you."

"We'd had plans to set up a temporary workstation here to analyze the readings off that crash site, but for now it's probably safer to do it in the Toll even if it's not as convenient." Jessie seated herself and tucked the heavy kit on the ground beneath her feet, then leaned back and braced her weight on her hands to stare up at the cloudless night sky. "Leastwise until we can find out what happened to the primal."

"If this is an attempt at small talk, I've heard better."

She didn't take offense. She grinned at him, her teeth flashing stark white in the shadows. "Actually, I've been meaning to speak with you ever since the Crystal Tower incident. Up until recently, you've been a hard man to find. ...But you don't seem much in the mood for that tonight. Anything I might be able to help you sort out?"

"I'd appreciate being left alone," Nero said stiffly, "if it please you."

"Ah, so you aren't done with your sulk after all."

"I'm not-"

"Can't say I blame you," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "She's not my type personally, but I can see the appeal."

"...Who are you on about?"

"The Warrior of Light, of course," Jessie said. "Unless I've got this all wrong, and you're besotted with some other girl who got herself in a fight she couldn't win."

Nero could muster no response save a good ten seconds of indignant sputtering.

"Wh- that woman's _professional meddling_ is rubbing off on everyone she meets! Have you people naught better to do than pry into the personal affairs of strangers? _Besotted?_ "

Jessie laughed. "I'm told you've been camping out in front of her room since you found out what happened. Threatening up and down to give her a piece of your mind the second she was awake. Did you?"

"Did I what?" Definitely a tension headache.

"Give her a piece of your mind."

He winced.

"That's a no then."

"How can- she's not bloody _awake_ , of course I can't-"

She scoffed at him, looking entirely unsurprised.

"Coward."

"Are you _quite_  done insulting me? If you've come to talk to me about something worthwhile, then talk." He lowered his gaze to the ground and passed a hand over his burning eyes. Fuck, he was tired. "Otherwise we've naught to discuss."

"It's not an insult if it's true," Jessie said coolly. "You've had countless chances to make good since you defected, and instead you drift about the edges of the Flats and associate with the rest of us whenever you deign to crawl out of your own head. When you _do_  condescend to us mere mortals, it's to toss about cynical japes and veiled insults like some... toxic security blanket you've wrapped about yourself because Twelve forbid you admit you've any sort of vulnerability. I've heard your shouting matches with the Chief, I've watched you when I've had the opportunity, and quite honestly your skill at self-sabotage is nigh unparalleled, _Nero tol Scaeva_. The Black Wolf should have sought your peerless talent for that alone."

That blunt -- and remarkably astute -- assessment from a woman whom he'd met all of twice stung far more than he cared to admit.

"And yet for all your faults, she and Master Garlond both still see you as someone worthy of their notice and their friendship. Not the projection you make of yourself to the world, either, in case you're wondering."

"...You think I'm not aware that I've made a mess of things? I am. And it doesn't make any damned sense to feel this way about the woman who _stranded_  me in Eorzea, either. I've no career, no command, no homeland left. I'm just a vagabond in some wild savage place on the arse end of the planet, and it's all because of her, and yet I'm... happier for it? I-- _ow_ , the hells was that for?!"

"I take it back. You're not a coward," Jessie snorted, drawing back the rolled-up tech manual in her hand as Nero rubbed his thigh, wincing. "You're a melodramatic _idiot_. If you're that desperate for the woman, why don't you just court her?"

He stared at her incredulously, his jaw slack with surprise at the woman's sheer audacity.

"...I was unaware that Garlond was in the habit of leeching his talent from the local _asylum_. Are you mad? Court the Warrior of Light? Even if I _were_  of a mind she'd have good reason to tell me to go to the seven hells. If you want to play matchmaker, Miss Jaye, find her someone like that Ishgardian knight of hers."

"You... don't seriously think you're in competition with the memory of a dead man, do you?"

"The man who took a lance through the chest for her? The man who was every bloody thing under the sun that I very much am not? Yes, in fact." Nero shrugged, staring down at his hands again, unable to shake the forlorn feeling it gave him, saying those words aloud. Admitting that in comparison to... well, to anyone else, he was wanting. "I'm a magitek engineer, a disgraced one at that. A commoner besides. Six _years_ her senior-"

"Oh yes, thirty-four," she rolled her eyes. "Over the hill, you are. Practically in your dotage."

"...will you kindly _stop_ that?"

"Will annoying you get you out of your sulk more quickly?"

"As I told you before," Nero snarled between clenched teeth,  _"I am not sulking."_

"Yes, you _are_. You and the Chief are very alike in some ways, you know, and feeling sorry for yourselves when you run into problems you can't immediately solve is one of them."

He fell silent, glaring at the ground, and kicked at a nearby rock.

"It's not without risks, I'll grant you that much," she said, patting his elbow in an oddly maternal gesture. "But right now you're just sitting out here alone twisting yourself in knots. Wouldn't a different approach at least be worth a try? For all you lack common sense, you're an extremely intelligent man. Brilliant, from all the Chief's said. If you can figure out a backdoor into experimental ancient weapons technology by yourself, changing your method should be easy."

Nero scoffed.

"Buttering me up, are we? Should've _started_  with that."

"Winding you up's more fun. A girl's got to get her kicks somehow. Besides, you yelled at me instead of her and I'll wager you feel better for it now, right?"

"...Surprisingly? Yes," he admitted, somewhat grudgingly. "I suppose I ought to thank you."

"Don't. I actually just came out here to see how much interest you had in putting that razor-sharp mind of yours back to proper work. I wasn't planning on giving out relationship advice. But if this means you'll be open to talking business, that's good enough for me." Jessie handed over a small card, flipping it back and forth between her knuckles with a winsome smile. "Call me if you're of a mind? You know where the Ironworks offices are located."

He took the card, staring at it in a sort of bemused interest.

"I'll give it some thought."

"One more question, if you'll indulge me. Why did you give us the codes?"

"The what?"

"Omega's activation codes." Jessie shrugged, but that shrewd dark gaze was boring into him. "Seems to me a loyalist would have run straight to the capitol with that information. Varis zos Galvus is a hard man by all accounts, but hardly an unreasonable one. You could've secured yourself instant fame and an imperial pardon in one go. But from what the Chief says, you seemed to know their only plan was to try and throw Aurelia at the primal and hope for the best."

"Eorzeans are nothing if not utterly predictable, Miss Jaye. They _always_  do that to her," he sneered, surprised at the wealth of bitterness he heard in his own voice. "But I already know where you're going with this line of questioning, and it's not at all what you think. 'Twas naught but rank curiosity combined with the perfect opportunity. Why not use an intended anti-eikon countermeasure against an eikon? Surely you don't think it preferable for an entire realm to quake behind one woman's skirts every time a beastman so much as breathes near a crystal?"

"Fair enough," she said at last, not sounding the least bit convinced. She hopped off the pillar and stood, shouldering the kit. "Anyway, I'm off. You know how to reach me now--and Nero?"

"Yes?"

"One other thing the Chief told me about your moods." She smiled at him, tilting her chin as she did so. "He said no matter how frustrated you got, you'd always come right back at the problem with double the willpower you'd had before, and a solution in mind to finish the job. And it nearly always worked out for you in the end."

Without another word, the deputy president of the Garlond Ironworks walked away, gradually fading into the night and becoming just another shadow among shadows. Once she'd gone he turned the card over and studied the string of numbers she'd scribbled on the back. Her personal linkpearl frequency.

 _Call me if you're of a mind_.

Speaking of numbers---she'd had his, right enough. Nero had observed on more than one occasion that even in her absence, this woman's associates seemed to tread carefully around her. Even Cid Garlond seemed unwilling to provoke Jessie Jaye, and he was beginning to understand why. The woman barely knew him and still had him figured out in the space of a half-bell. He honestly didn't know whether to be impressed or terrified.

His lips tilted in a rueful smile.

At length he tucked the card into his shirt pocket and stood, gathering his coat and his courage. He still had a visit to make.


	3. a foot in the door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I had a script picked out, you know," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8D

Waking up was painful and slow.

Her consciousness didn't come back all at once as it usually did of a morning, when she woke up refreshed and ready to face the day after near-collapsing from exhaustion. This time it came back by ilms, like she was clawing her way to the surface of a very cold and still lake. She thought of Silvertear Lake in the early morning, covered in a blanket of fog, the thick haze that would burn off by midday, mist wetting her skin, ambient aether prickling gooseflesh along her arms--

She wasn't staring at the open sky but at... rock? A ceiling?

This was not Silvertear Lake. Nowhere in Mor Dhona for that matter.

For a long and terrifying moment Aurelia couldn't fathom where she was or how she'd ended up like this. The past and the present felt... muddled, a cacophony of remembered pain and violence. Searing heat and the rank metallic stench of blood, the acrid chemical stink of burning ceruleum. The desperate roar of clashing humanity, screams of the wounded and the dying--they kept coming to her in flashes that were purely sensory impressions, rather than any specific recollection.

(Brilliant, deadly arc of blue, curving across the interlocking joints of the crimson moon in that one beautiful perfect terrifying second before the world exploded into fire and ash.)

But no, this wasn't Carteneau, this was-

She blinked, fighting through the cotton-boll sensation in her head for some semblance of clarity. There was pain, and she thought she ought to care about that, but that too felt like distant, abstracted information: something to file away in her internal memory for future consideration. Part of her wanted to just lay there and muddle through it, figure out what potion they'd used on her to render her senses so dulled. But she knew she had to return to the world and to herself eventually, no matter how reluctant she was to attempt it.

To that end, she forced herself to sit up and assess her physical state. Her forearm was only lightly splinted and bandaged which told her that someone - likely one of the other Scions - must have set and mended it. Her shoulder still pulsed with a vague and nagging ache. Not much to be done for that, but the intense pain of the fracture was little more than a sepia-toned memory.

That pain in her chest though... it felt like something was lodged deep in her ribs, hot and solid and unyielding pressure on her sternum.

Discomfort made her cough and she instantly wished she hadn't. The movement and the subsequent flex of her muscles sent a hot spike right through her chest to her fingertips, and suddenly that pain was no longer distant but immediate and very, very large. Aurelia groaned between clenched teeth; how could she have forgotten something like that?

"Awake at last," a familiar voice spoke from the doorway, very quiet and oddly subdued. "I shan't state the obvious or ask how you fare."

She braced herself for the scathing commentary she knew must be coming. She'd expected a jab at her intelligence, her common sense, some pithy remark about the Eorzean Alliance. She knew Nero tol Scaeva well enough to know he'd come here because he'd got wind of what happened.

Much to her surprise, though, he didn't say anything. Aurelia could see his fingertips fidgeting at the creases of his breeches and wondered just how long he'd been waiting on her to wake up.

"You can come in, Nero, it's all right."

He peered cautiously into the room. "Is your guard dog about?"

"What?"

"The elezen girl."

"Oh, Alisaie? I imagine either she sought her bed or someone carried her there. The chair's free either way," she pointed to the stool by her bed, "if you're of a mind to sit."

After a few more moments of hesitation, Nero entered the room, dropped his jacket over the foot of the bed and sat down on the stool with his hands loosely draped over his knees, still watching her in silence. Those sharp blue eyes, as piercing as ever, seemed to be looking for something. It put Aurelia in mind of a little boy who was worried he was about to get dressed down for something he'd done wrong.

Which was just... well, it was just mad, really, because she'd done a reckless thing and she had _known_  full well at the time it was reckless, even out of necessity. But he still sat there, with that contrite searching expression still on his face as he watched her. The longer that silence stretched, the more palpable her own tension.

She swallowed past the hot lump in her throat and shut her eyes. Much like the pain of her injury, there wasn't any avoiding this either.

"Go on then," she said tiredly.

"What?"

"Yell at me. I know that's why you came here."

"I--"

"I know you think I've made the Alliance too sure of me. But it was naught to do with them. All I could think was if I didn't fight him, he would pick a target for me." Her hands clutched the rough homespun coverlet so tightly she could feel her fingernails pressing into the meat of her palms. "It didn't matter if I got hurt so long as no one else had to fight him. I cannot have another death on my conscience, someone else dying for my sake. I couldn't bear it if- if-"

"Aurelia." Nero's strained emphasis on her name gave her pause. Seven hells, the man looked awful. The soft hair he took such pains to keep groomed was disheveled, stray curls and waves corkscrewing every which way as if he'd just rolled out of bed. Deep lines had carved themselves around the corners of his full mouth, and his face was deathly pale. "I didn't come here to fight."

She gave him a narrow, skeptical look.

"...all right, perhaps I might have _originally_  planned to yell at you."

"As I thought. Do go on, then. Tell me what an idiot I am. I daresay I would agree with you."

"No."

Aurelia forced herself to take a calming breath. The one time she actually felt she _deserved_  Nero tol Scaeva's ire and he seemed intent upon withholding it. The irony was laughable, or it might be if her chest wasn't held together by sutures and aether.

"...You picked a wonderful day to finally develop some damned tact, you know that?" she said finally.

Nero laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound.

"I had a script picked out, you know," he said.

He reached for her hand, covering it with both of his own. Aurelia startled at it--not because he had never touched her before; he most certainly had and then some--just never like this. She could feel the smoothed-down places and rough spots on his palms, either from the grip of his gunblade or the handling of heavy machinery. She supposed in his case it could be both.

"Did you?"

"I did. Precisely what I thought of what you'd done and how foolish I thought you were in blistering detail. Ran through it in my head, over and over." He was looking at their entwined fingers. "Then I realized 'twas like you were expecting me to say just that, sweeping in while you're down just to grind salt in your wounds. And the number of times that has constituted our exchanges. That's not- that is, I don't want that to-"

He broke off midsentence, cursing under his breath.

"Nero?"

"...I'm no bloody good at this," he said. "Can't just get to the point and ask you."

"Perhaps you could tell me later."

"It's either now or not at all, and it is well past time this was addressed. I'll not deny it, I was furious. If you'd slipped, or miscalculated in any way--"

"Then he'd have cut me in half and we'd not be having this conversation."

"Precisely, and if he had killed you, what then? Were you even slightly less skilled, 'twould be more than mere speculation."

"And here I thought you would jump at the chance to be shut of me."

His hands fell away from hers. "I am not so _heartless_  as to dance upon your grave, Warrior."

"Not heartless as such, but-"

"Is that truly the only impression I've left with you after all this time?"

Aurelia found herself taken aback. Not only had Nero  _not_  risen to what she'd thought was a rather mild bit of needling, he seemed genuinely offended. Ignoring her shoulder's twinges of angry discomfort, she reached forward and cupped his jaw in her fingers - he needed a shave even more than usual - and looked him in the eye.

"Forgive me," she said. He had gone very, very still at her touch. "It was merely a jest. An ill-considered one given all that's happened."

"Indeed."

"You look terrible," she continued critically, moving to tuck a stray sheaf of platinum hair behind his ear. "Have you not slept?"

"I'll sleep eventually."

"You should sleep now."

"You should worry about yourself," Nero retorted. "Between the two of us, I am not the one confined to a sickbed. Although I'd wager that violent little girl would be happy to oblige me."

Laughing hurt too much so she settled for a breathy chuckle as she ran her fingers through his hair. Alisaie Leveilleur was more bark than bite but he didn't have to know that.

"Are you certain you don't plan to yell at me?"

"Even were I so inclined, I suspect there's precious little I could say that you've already not said to yourself." He did still her hand then, his loose grip wrapping around her fingers and placing the light weight of her palm back on the mattress before bracing his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. "Rather takes the fun out of being mean, if you've already done it for me."

"So if you _didn't_  come to tell me I'm a right idiot, what did you want to discuss?"

"Serious question first. Do you hate me?"

Aurelia blinked.

"...What kind of question is-"

"The sort of question one asks when one wants to know where things stand." The lines around his mouth had returned, the corners drawn downwards. "You had said once that you hated me. Is that true or are those the words of a liar?"

Aurelia did remember telling him she hated him, what seemed like an age ago, in the heat of anger. If it had been true at some point--and she doubted it really had--she didn't feel that way any longer. Too much time had come and gone since that night in the Toll, too many things had happened, and she had learned far too much about the nature of the world and the people in it.

This most recent turn of events---she hadn't trusted his intentions, she admitted that freely. It beggared belief that a former imperial officer would just come waltzing up to them with a year's worth of code-breaking research and no ulterior motives for presenting it. She kept remembering that cryptic promise of his, the one he'd left shortly before she had found herself compelled to have pressing and lengthy business in Ishgard.

Here he was, returned as he had promised, albeit with reverse-engineered launch codes for an ancient superweapon in hand, and that was just part of the problem. She still didn't really know where she stood with him. But this was a good indication Nero didn't know where he stood with her, either.

"I would hardly blame you if you did."

"No," she said at last. "I don't. I've been very angry at you before, most certainly. But that's in no wise the same as hatred."

"I see." He exhaled, passed a hand across his eyes, then righted himself on the stool to look at her again. "That... brings me to my next question. Which is admittedly less a question than a plea. I'm..."

She tilted her head at him, brows furrowed. She'd been curious ever since he entered the room--this was so far from the biting cynicism she'd expected from him that it had put her on her guard and she wasn't really sure what to do. Whatever the reason, however, he seemed determined to push on.

"What are you really asking, Nero?" she said, as gently as she could.

"I'm asking you for a second chance."

Aurelia didn't know what to say. Of all the things she had expected to hear from him, it was not that. 

But she felt oddly enough as though she'd just won something important, despite not lifting a blade.

"I know 'tis a ridiculous request and one you're like to refuse, but I'm asking anyway." She could see a fine tremor in his hands, and his breathing was ragged. "...I'm tired of going three rounds with you and feeling better for the moment only to hate myself later. I know you were fully expecting me to come in here and hurt you and that's- no more. I'm bloody well done with that."

"Nero, you don't have to-"

"I _do_ have to say it. I'm not a statesman or a knight, sweetling. I've no way with words like fully half the fine people in your orbit. I'm just a crusty old magitek engineer currently lacking a roof over mine head, never mind a workshop."

"Now you're just selling yourself short," Aurelia snorted. "No one who can create their own back doors into Allagan tech is 'just an engineer.' Self-flagellation ill becomes you."

He grinned at her. "Would you settle for 'temperamental git with a bad personality' then?"

"I suppose _that_ much is true enough."

"Anyroad," he continued, the smile fading back to his solemn, fatigued expression, "I'll not ask for anything more than another chance, Warrior of Light. Just a fresh start, that's all. I'll not promise no antics _whatsoever_ \--"

"No," she agreed, smiling. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"--but I realized that I don't know much about you and you know even less about me. I should like to change that. So-"

"Well, if you _want_ a fresh start," she said, "there's a simpler way to do this."

She lifted her hand from the mattress and held it out to him.

"Let's do away with titles, shall we? They carry baggage neither of us want." She smiled at him, still holding out her hand. "My name is Aurelia Laskaris. What's yours?"

An understanding light came into his eyes, then.

He took her hand, very gently, and clasped it. A tentative smile graced his own lips.

 _My name_.

"My name... is Nero Scaeva. I'm very pleased to meet you."

 


End file.
